


Isn't it over

by BlueMoonHound



Series: John stories [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, DONT READ IF THAT MAKES YOUR CHEST HURT, High School, High School AU, ITS SAD GUYS SORRY, Sad Ending, Sadstuck, Slice of Life, really really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonHound/pseuds/BlueMoonHound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isn't it over

**Author's Note:**

> It's over, isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it over?  
> It's over, isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it over?  
> It's over isn't it? Why can't I move on?  
> \-- Pearl, Steven Universe
> 
> (sorry for the lyrics, I actually considered writing this story weeks ago and long before I heard that song but it really fits honestly.)

You feel out of place.

It's not like he knew you.

You knew him-- well, he was your closest friend. But you weren't his closest friend, not by a long shot. You almost feel bad for mourning him. Like you're intruding into the lives of people who were more important than you.

Not that you were ever important.

The others in line look sad. Like they actually care. You just feel numb. People give you sorry looks, and you just stare back through your shades. You'll have to take them off when you finally reach the door. You don't know if that bothers you or not.

You put in contacts before you left. It's not like anyone's gonna see your eye color today.

You're wearing a blue polo shirt. Blue was his favorite color. They had you wear blue to school today. He was really popular. He was incredible. He was big in theatre, he was amazing at the piano, he had good grades in all his classes, even though he was in and out of the hospital.

You take your shades off as you walk through the doors. You realize you don't really want to look at his body. You follow the line anyway. You sign the little piece of cardboard where everyone else has been signing. It has pictures of him all over it. Bright blue eyes, brighter smile, dorky square glasses – and of course, the oxygen tank, it was always there. Someone told you he was supposed to die before he turned ten. It's amazing he lived till 15, really.

But it doesn't make you feel any better.

You try to remember the last joke he told you. You teased him about his jokes, but you really loved them. It was a math joke. You can't remember.

 

A few days ago someone had slipped you the news. You'd believed them. Or at least part of you had.

It wasn't until it came over the mic at school - “the death of John Egbert” - that you stopped being able to believe it. He was a constant. In middle school, a curiosity, in high school, after you'd lost so much, a friend.

He probably didn't even think about you. You probably didn't exist to him.

You walked home that day thinking about why you never cried.

Do you even have emotions? Why don't you feel? You shuddered and kicked at the snow, wrapping your arms around yourself. And then you started to cry.

Later you wondered if those tears were forced. Was anything you did how you actually felt? You couldn't say. You don't know. You don't think so.

 

He looks so small and peaceful in the casket. You're pretty sure they put lipstick on him, because his lips are usually a shade of purple. You move on. There are people who need this more than you do.

They give you little cards with his full name and his dates of birth and death.

You meet old friends at the wake. Rose and Jade are there. They were both closer to him than you.

You catch up. Act like everything's normal.

Well, everything is, but John's dead.

 

Years later you stare at your floor, wondering why you haven't forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Again this is anecdotal to some extent. Everything that happened here happened to me to some extent.


End file.
